


a stutter

by aqvamarine



Category: ASTRO (Band), LOONA (Korea Band), NCT (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band), Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Ages, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Anyway uh, Bc why tf not, F/F, F/M, M/M, Soooo much angst, felix is a hufflepuff, idk - Freeform, like felix and chan are only a year apart etc, mc are felix chan jisung and jiwoo, uuuh chan is a slytherin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24192574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqvamarine/pseuds/aqvamarine
Summary: It’s not an accident, Chan provokes it—Felix will never know. One second he’s reaching for a book, the next he feels raw knuckles against his fingers, a hand under his own; it’s not even 8a.m and his cheeks are puffy with sleep and pink with embarrassment. He stutters an apology, bows stupidly and bolts out of the library hearing Chan’s silky chuckle, the smirk curling his mouth imprinted in his mind.He thinks, distantly, that it didn’t hurt to touch Chan. Not yet.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Ha Sooyoung | Yves/Kim Jiwoo | Chuu, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Yoon Sanha/Park Chaewon | Go Won, lmao ik
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	a stutter

**Author's Note:**

> oh hi mark
> 
> so yes im kind of dumping this load of crap before i get really tired of it  
> half of chap 2 has been written but i? need motivation idk  
> it's prolly filled with typos cuz i do Not have a beta nor do i have the patience to proofread my works ahaha  
> anyway

His eyes open on a sunbeam and Felix— Felix just groans, far from willing to deal with the day to come. He should be excited, his mum whispers-yells as she draws the curtains open, letting the sunlight blaze in his room and blind his tired eyes. It shines yellow and bites red on the edges and Felix lets himself be lulled by the sound of cars driving away just below his window; he’ll miss the comfortable noise of the city in Hogwarts. The owls just aren’t as exhilarating.

“Up you get, young boy! We don’t want to miss that bloody train, do we?” He whines and just buries himself deeper in his blankets, squeezing his teddy bear and hoping his mother would leave him be for at least five seconds. “Lee Yongbok! Don’t you dare go back to sleep!”  _ Dammit _ , the woman is pissed. He finally gets up to the smell of freshly cooked scrambled eggs and pancakes, blearily padding to the kitchen. There’s still some traces of spit on the corner of his mouth and he gets chastised for not having brushed his teeth beforehand, but in the end his mother is just worried—her sixteen year-old boy is about to leave her for an entire year, and that’s almost as scary for her as it is for him.

In a corner of his room, an abandoned bed calls for him. The sheets are clean and pink and smell like cherry and late Spring—a single poster of My Little Pony is hung just above, with the scribbles of a little girl on the bottom right corner. Felix gently flops on the mattress and distractedly plays with one of the plushies, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Hi, sis. That’s it, I’m going to Hogwarts. Australia was so good though, I’m freezing here. What about you? Is it cold, up there? I hope not. Listen, I found a dead bird in the backyard. I buried it, Mum was mad at me for touching it with no glove. Welcome it warmly, okay? I think it might be a little scared.” He mumbles in the scented pillow and breathes in deeply, seeking comfort. Then his mother calls him and he’s gone, a last look in the mirror reminding him of long hair and freckled cheekbones and a laugh so loud it made the windows shake.

  
  
  


When Felix gets on the train, he almost shits himself. He’s alone in a train booth and his leg is going wild with all his nervous foot-tapping—he gives his tiny mouse a sunflower seed and munches himself on a bunch, thoughtful.

See, the thing is, Felix is not exactly outgoing. He’s got that flower boy vibe, emphasized by light freckles covering the bridge of his nose and a 1000-watt smile that just underlines a bright personality—it’s just that he’s shy. He’s  _ soft _ and eager to please, so that’s why he beams when an enthusiastic knock on his booth door pulls him out of his reverie—three kids just burst into the cabine and his heart kind of stutters with relief.

“Hi! I hope you weren’t waiting for anyone, but the rest of all of this damned train is cramped as hell. Some blokes even tried to outrun us here, I thought we were about to spend the whole trip in the aisle.” The boy just smiles bright and proud and extends an hopeful hand. “I’m Jisung! And these two dumb arses are Hyunjin and Seungmin. I swear to god, they were the reason I was so slow!” Felix just smiles at them and softly utters his own name, a bit clumsy and intimidated. Hyunjin (the tall one—how can one be so tall at such a young age?) is, to be blunt, astonishingly beautiful with plush lips and a disarming smirk. Seungmin, while more on the discrete type, shines in warmth and comfort and Felix—Felix is so drawn to that light that he barely keeps up with the conversation.

“You’re the transferred student, right? How old are you?” Jisung (Felix will learn later that he’s  _ nosy _ ) asks while stuffing his face with a handful of sunflower seeds—“Dude, you look like a bloody squirrel”, Hyunjin laughs—and Felix feels his cheeks warm up at the attention. “Ah, yeah, and I’m about to be sixteen. My mum’s from Australia, but I was in Ilvermorny. I had to transfer because she got a, er, job offer.” He shrugs and Jisung grins so hard his dimples show. “That’s so cool! Anyway, we’re all fifth years too, so. Any idea on your house?”

At that, he bites his lips; his knowledge on Hogwarts is still a bit weak, sucked from lazy thumbing through his textbooks and asking questions to the Diagon Alley’s shop owners. Seungmin seems to catch on his discomfort and pipes up, an easy smile displaying his teeth. “I’m a Ravenclaw. Jisung’s dumb, so he’s in Hufflepuff.” Said boy just puffs his cheeks and grumbles about underrated houses and family legacy, but no one really pays him any mind—Hyunjin loudly says he’s in Gryffindor, as were all of his brothers and sisters, and Felix just distractedly listens to their banter. He doesn’t mind, he figures. He was always a little bit too carefree, a bit too wild.

⛌⛌⛌

There’s the light, tapping sound of water hitting the sink that fills the room with tension and a rhythmic beat – silence is wrapped around them, occasionally disturbed by drunken hiccups, and the boy is trying  _ really hard _ not to snap at his father. His mother’s hand keeps him firmly in place, a solid, grounding presence on his shoulder; they wait and wait and wait— “He’s coming.” And the door opens, heavy and scraping the floor.

Chan’s grandfather is nothing like he used to. Younger, he was proud and tall, chin held high and a permanent smirk gracing his thin lips; now he’s crouched and full of shame, his eyes glinting with the light of madness and bitterness stuck to the roof of his mouth. He spits venom and sneers at his stepdaughter’s attempts at calming him down – he broke his son and was about to chew on hers, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Chan. Follow us.” He feels his mother’s hand tighten on his shoulder but stands up anyway, prying it off with gentle fingers and a kiss on her cheek. She sighs melancholia and anger away and whispers an I love you against his ear, for him only to hear. He steps forward and locks eyes with his father. Green and silver shine in the arson of his determination and there’s no more room to admire his father, to feed the little boy he used to be with dreams of being like Mr Bang—Chan wants to become so much more, to go past him and leave him to lick his own leftovers. He grins, dark and mischievous and a bit twisted. “Let us go.”

⛌⛌⛌

Felix ends up in Hufflepuff—it’s not exactly surprising and the yellow tie compliments the splotches of stars on his cheekbones, on the bridge of his soft nose. He finds out in the secluded Headmaster’s office with the Sorting Hat perched on his head, half an hour before the first years’ ceremony.

Jisung is already sat at their table, chatting the boredom away with a tiny girl; Felix learns her name is Jiwoo and she’s in her sixth year, yet still amazed by every little detail of the castle. Seungmin discreetly waves at him from the Ravenclaw’s benches and Hyunjin just yells his disappointment from his own spot, red and gold shimmering on his chest. That’s when  _ he _ catches his eyes—when the real Sorting Ceremony starts.

The Slytherin house was the first one to stir Felix’s curiousity; they were supposed to be the bad guys, the ones who spoke with snakes and were related to Voldemort. Each time a first year is sorted to Slytherin, the other houses shudder—Felix vaguely hears Jiwoo whispering various gossip about the silvery house but refuses to listen to it. His gaze falls upon a tuft of bright, platinum hair and, when he locks eyes with the other boy, his heart stutter.

He’s—he is downright gorgeous. Soft, white locks fall on his gentle eyes (are they blue, or grey? Felix can’t tell), a teasing smirk floating on the corner of his plump lips. He looks a little bit older, standing straighter and with his chin too high to be new. Besides him—two dark-haired boys, one with a jaw sharper than a knife and the other with a cat-like grin. And the boy, the boy stares at him like he’s some kind of meal, watching his every move closely. Felix’s cheeks heat up under the attention, his fork mid-air and lips nervously chewn.

“Felix? Are you okay?” Jiwoo’s concern shakes him out of his trance and an anxious giggle slips out of his mouth, a bit strangled. “Hey, Jiwoo. Who’re the three boys on Slytherin’s benches? Like, the one with blond hair, and the two around him.” She obnoxiously leans on the table to get a better look and spots them rather easily—they stand out, with their confident grins and the whispers all around them.

“Oh! That’s Bang Chan, Seo Changbin and… Lee Minho, I think. Changbin and Minho are in their fifth year like you, but Chan is in his sixth. They, uh, are purebloods. And really, really Slytherin-like. Changbin is the new Slytherin Prefect, actually.” Then she goes off with her own definition of  _ Slytherin _ and the dozens of rumours surrounding the trio. Felix just glances occasionally towards their table, and each time Bang Chan catches him.

See, Felix is kind of an hopeful romantic. He believes in soulmates, in love at first sight—though he never experienced it—and dreams of leading a peaceful life, nursing a peaceful family and dying a peaceful death. He doesn’t necessarily want to live long; he’d rather die young and happy than old and depressed. And Felix is still full of these dreams that only children can muster: he dreams of saving the world, of curing diseases and being rich enough to feed an entire country forever. For now he just has begun to realise that it’s impossible—and later on, will decide that just saving a life is enough. Maybe he should’ve thought about being said life.

When he gets to the basement with the Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins, he catches a glimpse of light hair and swears he hears a distant laugh; but his thoughts are rapidly thrown away, as Jisung grabs his hand and leads him to their own Common Room. The Basement is, in a simple word, cosy. It smells of healthy plants and nature in itself and Felix kind of wants to walk barefoot on the floor—he settles for a deep,  _ deep _ breath, right before a bunch of other kids jump on him with excited eyes and seemingly no notion of personal space. The first one is a fifth year with round cheeks and a cute pout and squeaks that her name is Gowon; he likes the glint in her eyes. There’s also Soonyoung, the soft-eyed Head Boy and Jungwoo, even softer-eyed Hufflepuff Prefect. They immediately offer Felix to help him with both his study and settling in the castle but he declines when he sees the offended look that Jisung throw them—“Thanks, but Jisungie here already volunteered!”. The younger ones just watch in silent rapture and they all go to bed when Dahyun, the other Prefect, ushers them to their dorm.

  
  
  


The first night is—kind of a disaster. Felix ends up thinking about clear eyes and white hair and a smile so dazzling it shines even behind his eyelids; he’s in his bed, messily tucked under the thick blanket. The air smells like chocolate chips cookies and petrichor and first love but Felix daydreams (is it really daydream, if it’s in the dead of night?) of green ties and silver seams glistening against black robes. He basks in the scent of earth after the storm—or is it the ground right before, when the sky fills with clouds and everything around is heavy and tense? He wonders if there’s a storm to come, and falls asleep with a beautiful name on the tip of his tongue.

  
  


He wakes up to the sound of Jisung singing in their room, exhausted and in no state to attend any class—yet he can’t explain to his teachers that he was up all night thinking of a classmate (a boy, no less), so he gets up and fumbles around. The shower is quick, his face so pale the freckles stand out even more; he misses the sun from Australia, the warm hugs of his grandmother when he visited her during the holidays. He won’t be able to for a while.

He’s decorated his space a little bit; a picture of his mother and him, a portrait of  _ her _ fixed on his wall and a postcard from his granny, surrounded by plastic glow-in-the-dark flowers. When he lingers a bit too long there, counting the freckles on the little girl’s face, Jungwoo gently knocks on his door. He leaves with her smile on his face.

Jisung waits for him and they both run down the corridors—the Great Hall’s door is still ajar and they burst through the tiny opening, but Felix is bloody  _ clumsy _ and he trips over his own feet and falls on the floor with a soft  _ thump _ and a loud  _ oof _ . There’s a few poorly concealed snorts and Jisung seems to be torn between his duty as a friend and the overwhelming desire to burst out laughing.

“Are you okay?” And it’s definitely not Jisung. The snorts turn into surprised gasps and the telltale clatter of spoons on the plates breaks the tense silence—Felix finally opens his eyes and is greeted by clear eyes (grey, they’re grey) and the soft caress of white locks against his forehead. Bang Chan crouches close,  _ really _ close and there’s barely enough room for the younger to breathe, so he just squeals a choked-up “yes” and recoils bluntly, freckles standing out against the gentle pink on his cheeks. He clears his throat, and tries again. “Yeah, I’m fine, thank you.”

Chan chuckles and his heart stammers in his chest, as though trying to burst out of his ribcage—up close, the boy is even more beautiful. “Very well. I don’t believe we’ve met. What’s your name?” He extends a hand and Felix grasps it with clammy fingers and a tremor in his voice. “Felix, Lee Felix. And you’re Bang Chan.” The sixth year quirks a sceptical eyebrow, gaze curious and lips crooked in an inquiring smirk. “How do you know me?”

_ Ah, crap. _ The tip of his ears goes even brighter and Felix hastily lets go of his hand, barely registering the slight resistance. “Ah, well, er, you’re kind of popular? I mean, I heard some of my.. classmates talk about you.” He stumbles a bit over his words and can’t bring himself to look at Chan, but at least he can form sentences. Jisung, in the back, is about to join in—but is quickly stopped by The Lee Minho, in all his smug glory. Chan takes a few steps closer, hands in the pockets of his robes.

“Yeah? And what do they say about me?” He’s hovering over Felix and Felix doesn’t immediately think of stepping back, caught in his colourless eyes—he sees mirth and curiousity and a lot of irritation, barely concealed. He almost loses his balance when he messily stumbles back but, of course, Chan’s hands shoot in his direction and catches him by the hip; a teasing sneer bubbles in his throat and he lets it out in a low voice, his grip firm and steady. “Careful here, doll.”

It’s all kind of cliché and Felix is young and confused but inexplicably drawn to theses greyish eyes and throaty, cracking voice—there’s something so dark about Chan and something so light inside of Felix and he’s blinking with a huge, pristine look on his face, a gentle smile gracing soft lips. He’s nervous, but not in the way he’s nervous around his other seniors; Chan’s fingers are burning through his clothes and eyes are piercing through his soul, as if seeing sins he didn’t even commit. And Felix—he leans into the touch, curious and a bit out of breath.

“Chan, we should go.” It’s Seo Changbin’s voice that breaks the magic, tone like whiplash on cold water; he’s standing a few steps away, looking bored and slightly wary. Chan immediately lets go of Felix and shoots him a disarming smile before taking off on silent promises that he doesn’t catch—Felix goes to his table on wobbly legs, a flustered Jisung hot on his trail. “Dude,  _ what  _ was that? I can’t believe Lee Minho talked to me! And he called me pretty, too!”

While Jisung seems to bask in the attention, Felix is a little more reserved; there’s a weird feeling lingering in his back, an icy warning melting in his veins. He ignores it and properly flushes when Jiwoo wiggles her eyebrows—explains he was just about to fall and Chan is just nicer than what everyone thinks.

  
  


His first class is Herbology, with the Gryffindors. Through Hyunjin, Felix meets Sanha, a tiny boy with pink hair and a smile far too angelic to be genuine. Sanha is, in a nutshell,  _ alive _ . He breathes energy and his eyes shine with the unrealistic hopes and dreams of a twelve year-old kid (even though he’s sixteen, like all of them) and Felix loves him almost immediately. Hyunjin and Sanha are definitely a dangerous pair and they lose 10 points when Sanha dumps a handful of dirt and wiggling worms on Gowon’s bench—chaos is immediate and she cries for the rest of the hour. Sanha confesses, a bit later, with his ears red and lips chewed, that he genuinely thought she would’ve liked it—“I just wanted to give her something. She’s just so pretty, I panicked!”

Jisung promises he’ll apologise to Gowon on his behalf and they carry on with their day.

  
  
  


Felix doesn’t talk to Chan until about two months later—they just make eye contact during the meals and flushes a bit, and then Chan greets him every time he sees him and Jiwoo giggles knowingly in the back. Jisung and Minho click so fast and so discreetly it’s a bit frightening—one time, Felix swears he’s seen Jisung on his lap, casually licking his fingers and turning the pages of his book. But, when he asks him about what’s going on between them, Jisung just grins and shrugs secretively.

He thinks of Chan at least four or five times a day, especially when Snape extols the depth of his skills and compares it to Felix’s poor attempt at brewing a simple “cure for boils” potion. He exits the dungeon a little late, with a bitter taste in the back of his mouth, and his nape pink in poorly concealed shame. That’s when he bumps into Chan, grumbling about unfair teacher and clumsy fingers.

“Hey, doll, long time no see.” It’s still cracking and his throat seems a bit sore—concern bubbles in Felix’s stomach and he blames it for the twisting of his guts, a queasy smile wavering on his lips. “Hi, Chan.” It lacks the confidence Chan exudes and Felix just bows a bit, upset still. A quirked eyebrow and an index pressing against the younger’s chin and Chan looks him in the eye, scrutinizing. “Are you okay? You look upset.”

And Felix just— looks on the verge of a breakdown, because it’s his first time in a foreign school and he already misses his mom too much. An ugly sobs rips his throat open and there are fat tears on the corner of his eyes, glistening in a lost kind of sadness. “I— Snape was. I mean. I don’t know.” He’s not used to it; Muggle school was so much easier, with less kids and less stress and he could go home if he was antsy and his mom would bake him brownies and hug him until he’d had shed his last tear.  _ I miss my mum _ , he doesn’t say. Chan hears it anyway and something clicks in his eyes.

He crouches and slips an arm under Felix’s knees, his other already around his shoulder—whispers a  _ hold tight _ in his ear and lifts him off the floor as if he weighed nothing, carrying the sobbing boy deeper into the dungeons. Felix just winds his arms around his neck and quietly cries against his neck, basking in the gentle scent of adolescence and a bit of earthy rain. Chan smells like the aftermath of a downpour and Felix takes deep breaths, holding it nervously when Chan sits down but keeps him against his chest. “It’s okay, don’t worry. No one will disturb us, here.”

Felix just nods and dares pressing his nose deeper into the junction of Chan’s neck and shoulder, his cheeks already red and puffy. He cries a bit more and stays there until his ribcage stops feeling so tight and he feels a little calmer, a little braver. He licks his lips and raises his head with a tentative smile—Chan is already staring at him, looking strangely interested and kind of unfocused. “Er, sorry. Thank you, I—” “Shh. No need, doll. My pleasure.” His charming smirk is back on and he lifts a hand, his thumb grazing the boy’s cheek; he gently wipes his tears away with his fingers and Felix watches, transfixed.

“Why does everyone think you’re evil?” He blurts it out before he even thinks about it, the words stumbling out of his parted lips. Chan’s shoulders tense and Felix is about to apologise again—so he just puts his thumb on the younger’s mouth, eyes ever so gentle. “It’s a bit complicated. My family has been misunderstood. Do you believe in what they say, Felix?” The name—his name—rolls on Chan’s tongue like a prayer and Felix just shakes his head, a bit hazy and uncertain. “I believe in what I see, Bang Chan.”

The finger on his mouth becomes a mere caress; Chan lets his thumb trace the outline of the bottom lip, a wicked glint in his eyes. He leans into Felix’s space and sees him freeze, eyes wide and cheekbones crimson red. His voice is a low rumble, cracking on the edges. “And what do you see?” Their lips are almost touching and Felix wants to say so much. he wants to say that he sees a fiery fire in Chan’s eyes, that he’s a bit afraid but a lot spellbound, that he feels like a moth and that somewhere, deep down, he knows that Chan would be able to ruin him, that he’ll gladly let him do it and—

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Changbin’s voice is even, if a little bored – Felix scrambles off of Chan’s lap and twists his tongue in senseless excuses, hastily wiping the corner of his red-circled eyes. Chan just leans against the wall and lets out a frustrated sigh, glaring daggers into his Prefect’s face. “You’re no fun. You were funnier when there was no goddamn badge pinned on your chest.” He whines and combs his hair with distracted fingers, the ghost of a playful smirks still tugging at his lips when he turns to Felix. “Well, doll, he’s not entirely wrong. This kind of  _ is  _ the Slytherin Dungeons.” Felix blinks slowly at him, then at Changbin, voice cracking on the edges and a bit in the middle.

“I— I didn’t know, I’m sorry. Er, I was upset and— Chan took me here. I’m not saying it’s his fault! Just that. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I’ll let myself out. Bye.” He staggers towards the exit, his eyes still a bit glazed over and mind foggy all over; but of course, Chan is not that easily let down. “Nonsense. Let me.” He’s up in a second and his arm snakes around the boy’s shoulders, walking him to the Dungeons’ doors. “There, lovely. Don’t get lost, okay? Just climb up the stairs and you’ll be out in no time.” Then he just spins him and press a warm, promising kiss right behind Felix’s ear, tearing a surprised gasp out of his throat – when he closes the door on a friendly wave, all crescent eyes and warm smile, and flops back on the couch, Changbin raise a critical eyebrow at him, arms crossed.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you need to stop.” It’s too gentle to be effective and Chan shoots him a shark-like grin, smugness dripping from his tugged lips. “I haven’t even started, Chagbinnie. Why? Do you like him?” He stands up in a swift motion and hovers over the frowning boy, his hand coming up to stroke his cheek. “Or, are you perhaps jealous?” His lips brush over Changbin’s, not quite a kiss but rather an invitation, a taste of how it would feel like to be kissed by Bang Chan. Changbin doesn’t waver. “I don’t want to do damage control on the mess you’re about to summon. This is not my place.” A laugh slips out of Chan’s parted lips and he catches his lobe between wicked fangs, gripping harder at the prefect’s jaw. “This is exactly your place, though. But don’t worry. I’ll lick it clean.” He nips at the tender skin, then leaves the room with an icy laugh that bites Changbin’s ears.

⛌⛌⛌

The table is creaking under the Muggle’s body, just as she wakes up. Chan observes in rapture his every move, the confusion written on her face—how it morphs into utter fear, upon seeing the two figures hovering over him. Chan is in the back, half-eaten by the shadows of the barely-lit room; his face, as well as his father’s and grandfather’s, is hidden behind a plague doctor’s mask, his body hugged by a large, somber coat.

“Chan, come over here. Put this gag on her, and check if the ties are tight enough.”

The boy—barely eleven years old, his limbs short and cheeks soft—nods curtly and slithers behind the young girl (he gives her a little above eighteen years old, maybe less), watching as her eyes widen and her mouth opens in panic. He smiles behind his mask, a sad tug on his hips as he slips the gag between hers; she thrashes weakly, still groggy, and Chan just shushes her with tender words and a stroke on her hair. He tightens the ropes holding her still, his fingers ghosting on the pale skin—goosebumps arise at the contact and he squeezes her thigh gently, torn between the guilt and the interest bubbling in his throat. He’s  _ curious _ . “It is done.”

His father ruffles his dark locks and Chan thrives in the affection, suddenly proud and standing straighter; he looks closely as they draw their wands, his father mumbling words he can’t quite catch. Then there’s a green, striking light that hits the girl and her struggle is cut short—she gasps, looks at Chan right in the eye and dies on the spot, her body untouched and soul torn off. Immediately, the man grasps him with an urge and whispers another spell that Chan doesn’t understand and— he blacks out.

⛌⛌⛌

“You don’t look really fine, Felix. What’s wrong?” They are in a corner of the library, where Hyunjin and Sanha can speak a little loud without being yelled at by the book lady, and Seungmin is scrutinizing Felix with hawk-like attention, eyes squinted in suspicion. Jisung immediately pipes in. “Actually, you’ve been weird for the past week.” He crosses his arms and looks at him as though he knew something that no one else knew.

Felix gulps and feels the tips of his ears go red, trying to play it off with his nose buried in his book. “Shush. I’m studying.” He licks his lips nervously and the following silence gives him hope—maybe they’ll listen to him and let him thrive in despair? “Fuck off, you’re clearly not studying. Is it because of Snape?”

And that would have been so much easier—if it was just because of Snape, or the homesickness carving loss in red letters against his skin. But it’s a darker reason and Felix is ashamed, somehow. “It’s because of Chan.” He lets the words roll on his tongue and gauges their reaction, from Seungmin’s stupor to Jisung’s excitation; a sigh, a groan, and he puts his book down.

“He helped me after our Potion’s class. I was upset, he was there, he… Comforted me. And comforting, he properly was. But that’s it.” And it’s a blatant lie yet he says it with finality, picking up his studies where he left them—he doesn’t want to talk about it and his friends are just considerate enough not to pry, but not before Jisung makes him promise that they’ll talk about it at some point.

  
  
  


He’s reading a book in his dorm, a few weeks later, when Jisung flops on his bed, eyes tender and a pout on his lips. Spring has already settled in and the flowers in the common room give off a soft smell, lulling the students to a peaceful sleep; Jisung crawls up and clings to him with a Jisung-fashion neediness, tucking his face in the junction of his neck and his shoulder. “So, Felix, you still haven’t spilled the goddamn tea.” He mumbles against his skin and his breath tickles Felix but he just lets a noncommittal hum out, absentmindedly stroking his hair. “But I heard some stuff about this Bang Chan.”

And the hand in his honey-coloured locks just freezes.

“What did you hear?” Felix’s voice is a little bit on the strained side, his throat constricted. He’s not sure of where this is going and he likes to think he’s okay with this. “Well, more about his family, anyway. Minho told me that—” “Wait! What is up with you and this Lee Minho?” Felix jumps on the opportunity and bets it all on Jisung’s constant desire to talk about himself, his own eyes glinting with mirth and a lot of interest. Jisung giggles in his neck and scoots even closer, as though about to confess a very important secret.

“We, er, kind of hooked up. Once. Twice. And a lot of other times, too.” Felix gasps and shoves him away, hands gripping his shoulders to give him the most disapproving look he can muster. Jisung has the decency to look a little bit guilty and tries to conceal his giddy smile, but his face is beaming too much for it to be plausible. “Hey, don’t try to slutshame me. I’m a horny teenager.” Felix rolls his eyes but he notices Jisung’s pink cheeks and sheepish eye and settles with a shrug. “If you say so. But be careful, I don’t want to break his nose if he breaks your heart—don’t look at me like that, I totally could!— Anyway, tell me. What’ve you heard about him?”

Jisung straightens on the bed and tries to regain composure, clearing his throat. “It’s more about his family. As I was saying before your rude and unwanted interruption, Minho told me that he and Changbin are, like, distant cousins. The Bangs are a part of the Kim family—like, Jungwoo and also Kim Dongyoung. Dongyoung was a Slytherin, and he was shady as hell but, like, in a rich snob kind of way. Anyway, they are a pureblood, huge clan, but hear me out—the Bangs were disowned and banned a few years ago. They did some nasty stuff, but I don’t know what.”

  
  
  


The next time he sees Chan, he’s trying to cram for his exams in the library. He’s been falling behind study-wise and Jisung’s piercing looks are becoming to tiring for Felix to endure, so he hides between two bookshelves until closing hours and tries  _ hard _ not to think about cloud-grey eyes and flustered-red bitten lips.

It’s not an accident, Chan provokes it—Felix will never know. One second he’s reaching for a book, the next he feels raw knuckles against his fingers, a hand under his own; it’s not even 8a.m and his cheeks are puffy with sleep and pink with embarrassment. He stutters an apology, bows stupidly and bolts out of the library hearing Chan’s silky chuckle, the smirk curling his mouth imprinted in his mind.

He thinks, distantly, that it didn’t hurt to touch Chan. Not yet.

  
  


⛌⛌⛌

  
  


The Seo’s manor has always felt like it was alive. Doors and floors creaking right above or under you, the portraits whispering about filth and legacy and purebloods losing their mind; Chan loves it anyway. He used to seek the secret passageways and bother the portraits when he was younger and freer, when Changbin hadn’t stuck a massive stick up his ass and became the perfect little heir of the Seo branch. When Minho, half-blooded Minho, was still welcomed through the wards.

Now it feels foreign, the walls dull and lifeless. Soft Beethoven plays in the background and Changbin, pristine as always, lies in his sleeping robes on the couch, reading  _ The Great Gatsby _ with a glass of champagne on the coffee table. “You’re so fucking arrogant, Binnie.” He just lets out a non-commital grunt and Chan bites back a laugh and flops on the floor before him, letting his head fall softly on his lap—a hand immediately finds its way in his hair and threads it gently out of habit. But Chan has always been greedy and starved for attention, so he nuzzles his naked thigh and gnaws at it until Changbin yelps in frustration.

“What do you want, Bang? I’m trying to read this goddamn book.” 

  
  


⛌⛌⛌

  
  


“Who’s the girl in your room? She looks like you.” Jisung lets himself fall on his lap, shuffling until he’s comfortably nuzzled to his neck. Felix laughs a little at the cat-like behaviour and looks at the picture. A gentle smile dances on his lips. “Yeah. She was my twin sister.”

At that, Jisung perks up—“Was? I’m sorry, man. She was beautiful. 10/10 would have dated.” He presses a comforting kiss on his temple and looks carefully at him, but Felix just slaps his hand. “Shut up. She’d be way out of your league. And I don’t think your cute fuckboy would like to hear that.” Jisung’s cheeks heat up at that and he grumpily pouts, arms crossed but still perched on his lap. “Yeah, well, whatever. I’m sure I’d have liked her way much than you. You’re mean. Tell me how she was.” And it’s funny, in a sense—how Jisung can tell that Felix has a million stories stumbling on his lips. That he wants to talk about her but doesn’t want to see his mother sad, or to bother his friends. That he wants to spill the memories piled up in his mind, to forget that she’s dead for a moment. His arms snake around Jisung’s waist and he brings him closer as a silent thank you.

“She was— she was the nastiest little shit ever, not gonna lie. Her name was Olivia. She was born like a few minutes before me, and kept calling me her little brother when, really, I was wiser.” Jisung snorts and Felix flicks his forehead, offended. “Fuck off. Anyway, she was like, a tiny storm. Always had the worst ideas ever—one time, she made me climb a huge tree just because she wanted a fucking apple, and I fell and broke my arm. She cried for days though, and ate the core and even the seeds. I guess she felt bad.” And he goes on and on about Olivia, a glint in his eyes and his fingers absentmindedly stroking Jisung’s hair; Jisung reacts when he needs to and overall listens attentively, until he falls asleep to the low rumble and Felix just hums random songs passing through his head.

He feels at peace, and thinks he hears his sister laugh, deep in his mind.

  
  
  


“I think I’m in love with Minho.” Jisung whispers it in the middle of the night, sleeping between Felix’s tiny arms. They do this quite frequently—sleeping together because being alone is too frightening or too cold or one of them is simply touch-starved. Tonight it was Jisung who slid into his covers and quietly demanded to be the little spoon ; silence took over so quickly that Felix thought he’d gone to sleep, yet the hushed confession rips into the air like a forgotten band-aid on a long recovered wound. Felix’s grip on his waist tightens, patiently waiting for him to keep going.

“He’s just so frustrating and pureblood and I’m a miserable and tiny muggle-born and I—”

“Hey, Jisung.” Felix’s voice cut through his ranting swift and commanding, its low rumble startling him silent. “If he doesn’t see your worth, then he’s a fucking tool. And I’ll beat his ass. Well, Hyunjin will beat his ass, and I’ll be there cheering him on. Also, I’m pretty sure he likes how tiny you are. I mean, he’s all about that power top energy, and you’re like, the bottomest of the bottoms.” He snickers against his collarbone as Jisung just scrambles with an affronted whine, face hot and lips uncontrollably torn in a small smile.

“Don’t talk to me about bottoming when you’re practically bending over as soon as Bang Chan looks at you.” Felix gasps in outrage and proceeds to smother Jisung with a pillow, freckles almost as visible as his glow-in-the-dark flower stickers in the moonlight.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. Felix just shoots him a sympathetic, talk-to-me-whenever-you-need kind of look and Jisung playfully flips him off, yelling about how pitying looks make Felix ugly as hell.

  
  
  


Jiwoo corners them during breakfast, her eyes wide and cheeks so flushed she seems seriously ill. “Guys, guys! Guess who invited me over for the winter break? Ha Sooyoung, that’s who! Man, I knew my awkward gay panic attacks were fucking adorable. Thank you, crippling anxiety.” She stuffs her face with apple pie and goes back to her never-ending list of Sooyoung’s cute quirks, while feeding them both slices of pies. Jiwoo tends to treat them like kids, sometimes even wiping the crumbs off their lips; she makes Felix think of her mother and miss her a little less when he sees Jiwoo’s bright smile and feels her bear hugs.

“How about you?” She asks around a mouthful of apple pie. “You going back to Australia?” It stings a little, somehow. He shakes his head with a tender smile and swallows his own breakfast along with his sadness.

“Nah. Just me and my mum for this Christmas. Maybe one of her brother will fly here but who’d be willing to spend freezing holidays when Australia is hot as hell?” A tiny laughs escape her beautiful mouth and he knows he’s won, despite Jisung’s narrowing eyes and his hand gently, discreetingly squeezing his thigh.

  
  


⛌⛌⛌

  
  


At first, Chan seemed nice. He was all charming smiles and tender eyes, too soft to be wearing green and silver—one year above Felix, and just the right amount of playful flirting to make his tiny heart squeeze a little too hard. And Felix, well; Felix has always had a fragile heart, giving it away too willingly. That’s why he’s sighing into his mouth, clumsy and slightly awkward and barely sixteen years old—that’s why he doesn’t even protest when Chan draws a thin cut on his cheek, right above a patch of freckles, and smears the blood all over his golden skin. His grip tightens, he hisses from the pain—or moans.

Chan smirks, sickly sweet and satisfied. There’s an urge shining in his eye and Felix drowns in it, fingers buried in platinum blond locks—he feels teeth graze at his neck and bares it even wider, whining as Chan bites his pulse point until it throbs painfully. Hands roam over his hips, hold him still and he feels used but doesn’t care, drinks in everything Chan gives him as if he hadn’t drunk in an aching eternity.

“Do you believe in alternate universes, Felix?” Is voice is low, tune saccharine—the words drip into the boy’s ears and he swallows them reverently, gasping for air. A nod, feverish, nails scraping the smooth expense of Chan’s back; yet he doesn’t leave a single mark, his claws carefully retracted. So Chan spurs him on, licks into his mouth and bites at his lip, mean and purposeful. Felix scratches deep, red lines on his back in a soft, powerless whimper. “Would you find me, in another universe?”

Chan’s tongue feels like a weapon, tracing scorching paths on his throat, sucking his name between his collarbones. “Of course,” he purrs. It stirs something like molten, lavender honey pouring in his veins and Felix feels a little helpless and a lot breathless. “In some of them I have killed,” Chan goes on, his pace even and unbothered—his own nails claw at the boy’s shoulder, draw a bit of blood. He licks it off with an appreciative hum. Felix goes a bit eye-crossed. “Would I still love you?”

And he wants to believe that he wouldn’t. Felix, so gentle and focused on the good things, so  _ deeply _ convinced that there’s a light in every person he meets—that it’s his duty to ignite it, to help it spring into a bonfire. Chan chuckles and presses his hips against Felix’s in a swift motion, rough and uncaring. “You’d forgive me. You’d understand. Maybe you’d even be responsible.” He whispers it against his lobe and Felix whines, yanks his head back. Chan holds him still.

Felix wakes up sticky with sweat and tears and an uncomfortable feeling between his thighs, cheeks hot with red embarrassment and the aftertaste of a wet dream on the tip of his tongue. He takes himself apart under the stream of a night shower and picks the pieces up with trembling hands and guilt carved in his bones.

He didn’t know that Chan’s light was made to turn into a wildfire.

  
  


⛌⛌⛌

  
  


Felix always loved his mother’s kisses. They feel like petrichor and smell like mint, her lips soft as a feather on his freckled-cheekbone ; they feel like warmth and affection and all that is good in this world, and remind him of the sticky, sickeningly sweet little butterfly kisses that Olivia used to pepper all over his face.

Now, don’t get him wrong. He loves his house, even when the sky is gray as shit and it rains so often he thinks about seasonal depression—he loves the smell of the soaked earth and the feel of the rain against his cheeks, so much that he catches the flu in the span of two miserable days. Mrs Lee chastises him for being so reckless and makes him chicken broth and Felix feels like death on the 25th but he’s so happy about Christmas he doesn’t even care.

His mom gets him a knitted scarf and a hundred bucks—he gives her Hufflepuff-themed gloves and a necklace with a picture of him and Olivia hidden in the pendant. She cries and kisses him with salty lips and a storm of love, and they fall asleep next to the fireplace, cosy and more nostalgic than sad.

  
  
  
  


When he opens the door on the 26th, groggy with sleep and too much hot cocoa, he expects a neighbour, or even the mailman. He doesn’t expect a pureblood wizard with light hair and piercing, silver eyes, smirking down at him like he’s perfectly aware of how his mere presence slashes Felix’s heart open.

“Hi, Felix. Merry Christmas, though I’m a bit late. Mind if I steal you from your mom a bit?”

  
  


⛌⛌⛌

  
  
  


If Felix minds (he doesn’t), his mother definitely does not, as she ushers them outside as soon as Chan all but smiled at her, wishing them a nice time—and looking at her son as though he had introduced a fucking superstar to her. He kinds of gets it, though; Chan looks but unreal out of his uniform. Dress pants hugging his legs and complimenting every subtle curve, tie loose and the two first buttons of his shirt popped open. Felix feels like dying, and his traitor of a mother just shoved him inside the lion’s den.

Chan Apparates them at the top of an abandoned building and suddenly it looks like an apocalypse. There’s a pack of beer but Felix’s too young to like it—it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue—yet, when Chan gives him his own bottle, he drinks it like it’s the fountain of youth and only tastes  _ Chan Chan Chan _ . It’s a wicked flavour and makes colours spring behind Felix’s eyelids. He sees—he sees red. Not crimson like blood or well-kissed lips or Gryffindor’s bannr, no. Red like war, like a warning he resolutely ignores, trying to chug the rest of the beer without pulling a face.

Chan chuckles and takes a little bit of his heart with it, carried away by a cold breeze and tender, grey eyes. It’s one a.m. at the end of the world and Felix falls all over himself in love with a pureblood Slytherin, but somehow, he doesn’t mind. It feels natural, the way his soul yearns for another taste.

“I shouldn’t be here with you, you know?” Felix is, at the very least, tipsy. He discovered that beer tastes less bad when shared with Chan and almost laughed at himself—the sweetness of it soon to be buried in the bitter aftermaths of his fall. He’s prepared for it, he tells himself; he’s prepared for the burn of it.

Chan doesn’t say anything, merely looks at him with open curiousity. His eyes roam all over the younger’s body, their trail scorching under the cold moonlight. Felix closes his own and heaves a shuddering breath, bracing himself. “You’re going to hurt me, and I.. I’m going to let you.” Somehow, he thinks, that’s how tragedies are made.

He thinks about Antigone, picking pieces of her heart off the floor and praying for her brother’s forgiveness, as he gets closer and closer with purpose and resignation—it’s okay, he’s used to cut his fingers on the shards.

He thinks about Oedipus, ripping his eyes off out of shame, out of desperation, as he gets lost in silvery irises and sees his own downfall in it—it’s okay, he knows Chan’s face just enough to live without his sight.

He kisses Chan’s neck under the saddened gaze of the stars, constellations mourning for their child, burning light years away yet still trying to reach for him. And Chan ravishes him almost instantly.

Felix is on his lap, his cracking voice even more broken as Chan sucks on a spot behind his ear; his tiny hands grip at the other’s hair and he can feel more than hear the appreciative grunt, hips bucking out of pure instinct. It’s kind of the last straw and Felix braces himself on solid shoulders, heartbeats anarchic and breath worked up. “What did your family do?” He’s feeling brave—maybe  _ too  _ brave, he thinks, as Chan’s eyes darken. But it’s too late and he barely has time to gasp before he’s on his back, slammed against the floor and under Chan.

“Nothing that should concern you, doll. Why? Are you afraid of me?” He sound almost expectant as he growls it directly in his ear, earning a full-body shudder and a poorly concealed moan. “No,” Felix breathes, reckless. “Just curious. Is it true, what they say? Were you banned from the rest of the clan?”  _ Is Changbin your cousin, or your lover? _ It’s on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it back with a tight smile. Chan bites his neck with purpose and grinds his hips against Felix’s, holding him still with a single hand.

“It is. My father was misunderstood whilst trying to be worthy of his legacy.” He whispers it and seems a lot more pained than angry—there’s a twisted kind of sadness that tugs at Felix’s heart and he slides his arms behind Chan’s neck, bringing him closer. “I’m sorry. Must have been hard on you, huh? I should not have asked, that was rude.” He presses a tentative kiss on his cheek and Chan stares him down, a bit dazed; then a careful smile pulls at his lips and he cups the younger’s face, angling it towards him. “Really?”

Felix gulps and holds his breath back, just brave enough to look him in the eye. He nods, and Chan strokes his bottom lip with a teasing sneer. Felix’s eyes dart quickly to his mouth, and Chan laughs. “Oh, baby. Want me to kiss you?” It’s soft and deceptive and Felix is well aware but he’s also proud and full of himself, in the way teenagers are—so he nods again, and exhales. “Why won’t you kiss me?” He wonders, really. Chan kisses him everywhere; hell, even his palms.

But Felix doesn’t have a lot of time to ponder on his reasons, for  _ he _ is brushing his lips with his own, testing the waters. He murmurs. “Because a kiss—a real one—has to be special. It needs settings, and a nice background.” He ghosts over Felix’s mouth and the boy’s heart is about to burst out of his chest, the grasp of his hands tighter and tighter. Chan chuckles. “You feel it, right? The building tension. The drums introducing a new kind of melody.” His breath is hot against his skin and Felix burns with a foreign fire, his eyes closed and lips already parted in anticipation. A finger traces again the outline then, finally, a press.

It starts gentle and chaste, like the first kisses in dramas Felix used to watch at home. Barely a caress, lips over lips and the flavour of their taste; but then Chan tips his chin with a careful hand and slips a teasing tongue past his lips, and Felix is gone. The kiss is deepened and Chan licks into his mouth with a hunger barely concealed, backing off solely to nip at his already full lips. Felix tries to keep up but Chan just takes and takes and takes until he has no more to give—his lungs empty, nostrils flaring in poor attempts at recovering from the experience. Chan licks his lips with a smug look on his face and Felix knows he must seem debauched, chest heaving and cheek healthily flushed.

“That was just a taste, angel. But I might already be addicted to your lips.” He mumbles and dives right back in, hooking a thumb in the corner of his mouth to keep it open—this time Felix barely tries to fight for a pretence of dominance, pliant under his ministrations. Then Chan presses his hips down in a swift, controlled motion and Felix  _ mewls _ , grabbing his shoulders blindly for expanse. “Chan— We shouldn’t—” He tries to say but Chan swallows his whimper eagerly and Felix’s first instinct is to grind back, spine arched and pupils blown. Their clothed cocks drag against one another and he bites hard on Chan’s bottom lip, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Chan just groans and clutches his hips even more firmly, rolling his own down with ease and a bit of haste. Felix hooks one of his leg on his back and presses forward in unashamed urge, panting against his mouth and not knowing whether to moan or to burst into tears. “Ah.. Please—” Chan nips at his neck and sucks a mark down his collarbone, still grinding with purpose against him. Felix is so  _ hard _ he feels like dying, and a few more prayers fall from his slack lips. “Please what, doll? What do you want?”

Under the aloofness shines a predatory strain, the older’s voice strained and breathy; the ground is hurting Felix yet he doesn’t care, hips jerking forward in broken rhythm to match Chan’s. “I don’t— I don’t know, just—  _ shit _ —” He’s close, almost there and Chan seems to feel it, for he just shoves his hand down Felix’s pants and  _ squeezes _ and Felix comes so hard he thinks he passes out, hardly feeling the last few rollings of the other’s hips, bringing himself to completion.

A few seconds pass as they pant, Chan in Felix’s neck and Felix desperately trying to regain a pretence of composure. His fingers are already in the other’s locks, combing them softly—it’s quiet and comforting, but the stickiness in his pants is a painful reality. “That was… A bit embarrassing.” Felix bites his lips and wants to groan at his own lack of self-control, barely alleviated by the fact that Chan followed suit. And Chan— Chan just craddles his face and presses a tender kiss on the corner of his lips. “That was hot, don’t ruin it. Now shush, I’m tired and too lazy to get up.”  _ You’re comfortable _ , he doesn’t say. Felix tries to hear it anyway, between Jisung’s warnings and his sister whispering in the back of his mind.

_ Tell me, little brother _ —  _ when the sun cuts himself open, what’s the moon to do? Is she to bleed with him, or to kiss the pain away? _

Felix wakes up in his room, alone.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what u think!!


End file.
